Or I'll Begin to Roam
by Cascade Waters
Summary: Home is made for coming from.... retrospeculative WARNING: Will contain non-sexual spanking. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

Or I'll Begin to Roam

by firechild

Rated T

Disclaimer: I own only the non-canon characters.

Warning: One later 'removable' chapter, which will be marked, contains the non-sexual spanking of an adult--if you can't handle this with equanimity, skip that chapter—you won't miss much in terms of the main plot--or turn back now.

A/N: This story is not connected to my Semper Fi series. This is an au, a supposition about the origins of the Gibbs/DiNozzo dynamic. I like playing with possibilities, and this is one that occured to me. I had to do some guesswork and I took some creative license with names and with dates--I sadly lack an eidetic memory and only have net access at my parents' house, where I invariably spend all of my time reading the fic you guys write, so while I did research this, most of what I turned up is patchy. And yes, I switched Baltimore with Philly--he was supposedly a homocide detective, but if you'd ever noticed, he worked transit in Baltimore , which would have made him not homocide and probably not a detective yet (Tony in uniform...) so I reworked. This is NOT slash.

Dedication: To supergirl02, may2002, superem, and my personal mad scientist and reactionary gauge, misslindalee. Hugs!

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_8-17-00_

Whoever did these 'you are here' maps had to be on something.

Possibly several somethings.

It wasn't that he was lost--if his research was accurate, he was about a mile from his destination for the moment. The issue was time. He had no illusions that his little adventure wasn't coming to an end very soon; he'd lay money, if he'd had any, that before the day way out, he'd be caught, killed, or both. Time was running short for him, and he had no intention of being taken before completing his job. He had no intention of being taken alive, for that matter. Hence, his agreeing to such an obscure location. Hence, his trek to Texas . Hence, his discovery that highway signs in Texas were more valuable as scrap metal (which might've been his next job if he'd thought he'd still be breathing tomorrow.) Hence, his creative navigating.

Hence, his haunting of the area maps at this... fragrant... excuse for a rest stop.

He'd been to a number of these, and for the most part, TXDOT did a decent job of maintaining them, but this particular one was along a less-traveled stretch of highway, which was presumably why his mark had chosen it, and the smell, helped along by the perversely humid early-morning heat, was starting to make him a little lightheaded.

Of course, that could also be the lack of sustenance talking.

Nah. He'd gone more than three days at a time without eating before. Had to be the stink.

He shrugged to himself, trying not to take a deep breath, and scanned the area, trying to decide how to get over to the meet point--which was nothing more than a mile marker--without keeping himself out in the open like a giant target. Unfortunately, the terrain wasn't cooperative, and nothing came to him.

Oh, well. He reached into his bag, hand bypassing the semi-automatic and selecting a fresh shirt.

He was going to die today, anyway. Might as well go out in style.

-----

He was gonna kill him.

That's all there was to it. He was just flat-out gonna kill him.

He still couldn't quite swallow it. How could the kid do this, how could he just betray everything he'd stood for?

How could Tony betray _Gibbs_?

It just didn't make any sense.

Gibbs had been flitting all over the country for the last two days, always a step behind Tony, maybe half a step ahead of the FBI, determined to catch the boy himself, to be the one to cuff him, to hold a gun on him, to look him in the eye and ask him why.

Oh, he knew that it shouldn't matter. Tony was on the wrong side now, in league with a murderer, and it shouldn't matter why. They barely knew each other, so it shouldn't matter why. Gibbs was Gibbs, it never mattered, it shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't matter, but it did.

It mattered to him. He wanted to know. He had to know.

To do that, he was gonna have to step up the pace, he was gonna have to be the one to stop Tony, because while he sort of wanted to kill him, while he knew there was a distinct possibility that he might have to literally do so, he also knew that if the FBI got there first, Tony would almost certainly leave in a body bag, and Gibbs couldn't shake the conviction that he'd never forgive himself if that happened.

So, yeah, he was gonna kill him, but he fully intended to do so figuratively.

Anger radiating from him, he all but stood on the gas pedal of the rented Mustang, barely noticing the blessed lack of traffic on this road as he passed the mile marker, swore, and jerked the car into a violent U-turn, briefly riding on just two wheels. Snapping on latex gloves, he left it, idling, pointed the wrong direction on the shoulder as he stormed over to the green marker, knowing that he was too late, again, and bent on closing the gap. He found the lump duct-taped to the back of the marker and impatiently yanked it off, turning it over in his hand and opening the battered envelope to unfold a photograph of a marina dock with one boat circled in red, the slip number barely visible, part of the name of the boat fuzzy but still legible.

So.

Back to where this had all started.

Gibbs set his jaw as he strode back to the car, yanking open the glove compartment to retrieve an evidence bag and inserting the whole package into it, photo open and facing up, before tossing it onto the front seat with the others. He didn't know why Tony hadn't taken any of these friendly little messages with him as he'd gone on his merry chase to meet his new partner, but Gibbs wasn't about to leave them for the fibbies to find; they'd been tracking him just fine on their own, they could just keep doing it. As for Gibbs, he was tired. He was done. He wasn't going to be anyone's Wile E Coyote, least of all Anthony DiNozzo's. He was going to be the one a step ahead this time. He didn't know why Tony was doing this, he didn't know if things could have been different, he didn't know how much responsibility he himself carried in all of this, he didn't even know how many people had already died over this. If this little odyssey was going back to its own genesis, well, that was just fine with him; one thing he was sure of--no matter who'd started it or why or where, one way or another, he was going to finish it.

They owed each other that much.


	2. Chapter 2

_9-2-92_

He wondered if she knew that her hair clashed with her dress and all of her decorative... stuff.

Not that he was any sort of expert on colors or decoration or weddings, but even he was getting a headache from seeing her chunky-spiky-should-be-registered-as-a-deadly-weapon siren-red hair against a swirling backdrop that was mostly Pepto-Bismol pink.

Of course, that headache might just be caffeine withdrawal.

He glanced to his left, gracing his new bride with a tight smile before turning to face ahead again.

Nope. Definitely the colors.

He really didn't care about the colors she'd picked for their wedding day; actually, he still wasn't entirely sure why he'd let her talk him into having a wedding at all. It wasn't that he didn't love her--he did, more than he'd ever thought he would love anyone again--or that he didn't have fun with her, at least when she wasn't acting spastic. He'd just never imagined himself marrying again, not after Shannon. Then again, he supposed Shannon was probably the reason he was standing here, now, in a white suit with a dull gold (he'd drawn the line when she'd tried to talk him into wearing pink) tie and kerchief, trying to make nice with four hundred of his bride's closest friends and praying for rain or indigestion or anything that would get him out of this Princess Puke reception or at least break up the monotony. Really, if she just had to make them 'legal' and pin him down as her personal sex toy, they could've gone to a justice of the peace and then out for steak. Not that she ate steak, or anything he considered guy food, but he'd have at least sprung for some of that expensive wine she liked (and any decent place that would serve steak would also be able to dig up a beer for him.) But no, she'd had her heart set on the church and the fancy clothes and the bubbles and the whole shebang, and one of the reasons that he'd found himself so attracted to her was that they both tended to get what they wanted most of the time.

Well, at least he wasn't paying for all this--not that he really cared, but her family was loaded. Yeah, the rehearsal dinner had cost him most of a paycheck, but at least he'd gotten a break on the honeymoon--he could only afford three and a half days away from work, which killed his original three ideas of quiet romantic getaways on continents that didn't contain SSA Mike Franks, so a buddy had gotten him a good package at Niagara, where his nymph could brag about getting married and he could have three days corpse-free. It wasn't the ideal, but it was far away from Estes Park and memories of Shannon making him swear on their belated honeymoon to remarry if something ever happened to her. The idea had seemed ridiculous to him then, but she'd had a health scare early on, and when Kelly had come, just the idea of having to manage without his wife had scared the hardened Marine to the bone. He missed Shannon, he always would, but he thought she'd get a kick out of Mrs Sarah Catherine McReady Gibbs, and she would kick _him_ if she knew that he was thinking about her at his and Sarah's reception.

With a small sigh, he put Shannon back in his mental treasure chest and tried to focus on the middle-aged couple to whom Sarah was showing off their wedding rings--bright gold, his plain and hers sporting a small starburst of diamonds with a pink ruby at the center. She had gladly ditched her engagement band, which was just a delicate gold circlet with a tiny solitaire, as he hadn't had much time to come up with more (she'd had her heart set on marriage, and he'd still managed to surprise her by showing up to propose in the middle of her garden club meeting, but she'd accepted the understated ring happily enough, and he'd really stunned her with his choice of wedding ring and its perfect sizing, especially since this shindig had been thrown together in six weeks, which he seemed to remember was nearly miraculous. Her family wasn't just loaded--apparently, they were well-armed and well-aimed, to pull off a wedding that should've taken a year to plan.)

He tried to file away the names he was hearing, the faces gracing him with condescending, speculative, judgmental, and in the cases of two little old great-aunts and one teenage bridesmaid, steamy smiles, and for a moment he was tempted to act like the ape they seemed to think he was. The urge passed, though, when Sarah went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he saw the happiness glittering in her eyes. He gave her a genuine smile and squeezed her to his side, capturing her lips for a brief but promising kiss, and kind of enjoyed the way her mother's older sister's mouth tightened in disapproval. No wonder she hadn't been keen on any pre-wedding meetings. They were his family now, too, but every family needed a black sheep, and he could baaaa with the best of them.

And then it was back to the boring; someone put a glass of champagne in his hand, and he managed not to grimace. He'd never been a champagne drinker, so he waited for one of the waiters to circle by so that he could foist it off on a tray. He didn't have to wait long, and a couple minutes later, champagne-free, he exchanged a hard handshake and a challenging nod with Sarah's anti-military uncle. The tension must have translated into his left hand, because she elbowed him gently in the ribs and murmured, "Leroy, be nice--Uncle Bert owns a good chunk of DC."

He really hated that name. "That _was_ being nice," he shot back out of the corner of his mouth. "And whatever he owns, I don't need. How many aunts and uncles do you have, anyway? It's like a museum opening out here."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," muttered the drama queen, earning her a raised eyebrow, "there aren't that many. Besides, we'll cut the cake soon, and then the dancing, and then we'll do the presents."

"Mmmm." He turned both of them so that they were chest-to-chest, holding her close and murmuring against her forehead, "How about I forget the cake and dance us out of here and just do you?"

He felt her laugh before he heard it. "Leroy! I swear, you're such a bad boy! It won't be all that much longer, and it'll be fun, you'll see." She pulled back to wink at him, then her eyes went wide. "Oh! I almost forgot! There's one person you just have to meet..." She went up on her toes, turning to scan the crowd, "...if I can find him..."

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Oh, joy."

He was bracing himself for yet another dour aunt or deaf great-uncle, so he was more than a little surprised when she all but jumped up and down in a little victory dance and waved someone toward them in a very informal gesture. "There he iiiiiis! Sweetie, sweetie, come on over here--yes, you, silly! Get over here!" He tried to see who she was beckoning, but two knots of people in formal wear crossed paths just then, almost blinding in the amount of white (on the men) and pink and gold (on the women) in the September sunlight. He was surprised when, as the crowd thinned momentarily, he spied someone who hadn't been in the receiving line, and even more surprised when that someone was apparently Sarah's 'silly sweetie.'

He was young, tall, with a good bone structure that he hadn't quite grown into yet; he was thin, and for all that he hadn't finished growing and was only just starting to fill out, he moved with an almost athletic grace. His dark blond hair was spiky without being punkish, his green eyes were sharp and wary and a little puzzled, and he was (thankfully for the groom's eyes) wearing a conservative navy suit with a navy-and-silver-striped tie. He carried a glass of champagne, which appeared untouched, between two fingers of his left hand, and his right hand rested in his pocket as he made his way toward the couple. He was basically a kid, but he didn't seem shy so much as... watchful, as though acutely aware that he was out of place, but rather than apologizing for that, his manner said that he might be in unfamiliar territory but he'd meet any challenge.

So, there was another genuine person here, after all.

"Ohhh, there you arrrrrrrrrrrrrre, you handsome devil, you!" Sarah threw herself at the startled young man who, to his credit, got his right hand out of his pocket and caught her in both arms, only taking half a step back and managing not to spill any champagne.

The boy had good reflexes.

Had to be an athlete.

While Sarah clung to the poor boy and squealed all sorts of embarrassing nonsense, the groom reached out and deftly relieved the kid of the champagne, watching the dark green eyes go through surprise to defensiveness to understanding; the kid gave him a small nod, not protesting the loss--which was good, considering that he was probably too young to drink.

"Oh, oh, oh, I'm so glad you came! Let me look at you. I haven't heard from you in years--shame on you, not keeping in touch!" Sarah had finally released him, or at least most of him--she'd appropriated his hands, and was now scouring him with her eyes.

"Uh, sorry--didn't know you'd want to hear from me," he said quietly, uncomfortable. The baffled groom had to admire the kid's ability to be honest without being rude.

Sarah whapped the boy's bicep. "What? Silly! Of course I want to hear from you! We all do! We're family, after all!"

The kid didn't respond verbally, but his raised eyebrows spoke volumes.

"Oh, honey, I have to introduce you, I just know you'll adore each other--this is my new husband, Leroy."

"Jethro." The groom rolled his eyes and offered his hand, judiciously not adding that as this was a wedding reception and she was the only woman in a wedding gown and he was the only man with her pink lipstick on his cheek, he felt that the 'new husband' remark was fairly obvious.

The boy had a solid handshake. "I know. Congratulations. Nice to meet you, Jethro."

"Oh, please," Sarah snorted. "He just doesn't like his given name."

"Jethro is my given name. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. All mine, all given."

"Yeah, well, I'd give a lot more for Leroy, that's for sure," she muttered.

The kid watched them, politely expressionless, but Jethro was fairly sure that the boy was amused at this obviously-rehashed conversation. "And you are...?" he prompted gently.

Sarah jumped in. "Oh, don't pay any attention to him, darling, he's just stubborn. Leroy's an ex-Marine, you know."

The kid unconsciously pulled himself up, going from good posture to something close to attention. His eyes met Jethro's again, remeasuring, and he said quietly, "I didn't know there was such a thing as an ex-Marine." It wasn't a question, not quite a challenge, more of an... acknowledgement. Jethro found himself giving a tilted nod.

Sarah, a little irked at being left out of the loop, plunged on. "Leroy, you remember me telling you about my older sister, Elizabeth?" He nodded, recalling that Elizabeth had been quite a bit older, Sarah having been a late-in-life baby, and Sarah had only mentioned her once, and then only when they were recounting dead relatives. "Good! I know it was awhile ago, I hoped you'd remember--well, this is her little boy, Anthony."

The kid winced just a little. "Tony. DiNozzo." Obviously, the 'little boy' part was as superfluous as 'new husband.' And obviously, he felt as strongly about Anthony as Jethro did about Leroy.

"You two should have lots to talk about--our little Anthony just graduated from ROMA."

Tony shifted. "Ah, RIMA, or at least it was when I was there. It might have changed..."

Sarah laughed. "Oh, of course--the Rhode Island Military Academy, right? You know me, I can never keep these things straight."

Oh, this was interesting. "RIMA, huh? Just get out?"

"Class of '91." Here they were, all introduced and talking about him, and the boy looked even more discomfitted than he had before.

"You go into the service?"

"No, sir. I'm actually on my way back to college--Ohio State. I'm not really devil dog material."

Oh, he kind of doubted that, but he'd go with it. "What're you studying?" Yep, the kid was definitely squirming. Hadn't he ever had someone ask him these things?

"Uh, phys ed. Big dumb jock, at your service." There was definitely humor behind that statement, but not enough to soften it.

"Any sport in particular?" With that frame, he'd make a decent hockey player in a couple of years, but right now, he was a little on the thin-and-unfinished side.

"Football, basketball. Can't tell you what positions--they changed three times last year, who knows this year."

"Haven't found your niche yet?" Absently, Jethro sipped from the glass in his hand, then grimaced as he remembered what was in it.

"There was a mono epidemic last year in the athletic department, we kept losing players, so they made me a floater, plugging me in wherever they were down. I even had to fill in for one of the JV football coaches a couple times, drove my own coach up a wall. We finally had to forfeit the division championship basketball game, not enough players. We're gonna have to rebuild the varsity squad before the season starts."

Really, now. "You're varsity, already?" Jethro's eyebrows had a brief conversation with his hairline.

The boy actually blushed. "Uh, yeah, yes sir. Like I said, we're a little short on the rosters--that's the only reason."

And Saddam Hussein went to Confession every Sunday. Jethro'd bet his eye teeth that this kid would make team captain one day, if he didn't get pulverized before he finished growing.

Jethro jerked as a hard hand collided with the back of his head. "Your cushy government salary, and you couldn't even spring for a bottle of Jack. I may just shoot you, Probie."

Sarah all but growled; Jethro refused to rub his head as he twisted to look at the gray-clad middle-aged man who'd come up from behind on the right. "Nice to see you, too, Boss," he said sarcastically before glancing back and seeing Tony's wide eyes. "Don't worry, kid, he's just blowin' smoke."

The older man's eyes flicked briefly over the boy before dismissing him. "You sure about that, Probie?" He glared hard for a minute, and when he was sure that he wasn't going to be able to stare down his trainee, he leaned in, thrusting a long, bony finger in Jethro's face. "If I don't see your scrawny butt at your desk in seven days, I'm gonna find it and kick it all the way back to Kuwait." With that, he turned and strode away through the crowd.

The three stared after him for a moment; as usual, it was Sarah who ruptured the silence. "I really can't stand that man, I don't know why he showed up here, I certainly didn't invi--did he just say 'seven days'?"

"Yup. He did." Jethro turned back to his bride, grinning. "We're gonna be breakin' in that new bed a little more thoroughly than we thought." He flicked his eyebrows up and down, and she giggled a little. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Tony shifting and looking down and away, his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, Tony, we're just being dirty."

Tony grinned a little and looked at Jethro, shrugging. "Dirty's good; McReadys can handle it. Question is, are _you_ up to handling a McReady?"

Sarah gave her sister's boy a proud, toothy grin; whatever Jethro might have said to that died in the offing when the wedding planner announced that it was time to cut the cake and warm up the dance floor. Tony waved them off with more congratulations, reclaiming the champagne glass and using it to throw Jethro a tiny mock-salute.

By the time they finshed cutting the cake and the little orchestra started playing Air Supply's "Makin' Love Out of Nothin' at All," (her pick for their wedding dance,) the young man with the interesting future was nowhere to be seen. As they opened his gift an hour later—a gift certificate to a local steakhouse—Jethro smiled.

"Next time we go to a 'little family thing,'" he murmured to Sarah out of the corner of his mouth, "I'm staying long enough to smile and wave, and then I'm kidnapping your nephew and getting the heck out of there."

"I thought kidnapping was a no-no," she muttered back. "And he's _ours_ now."

-----


End file.
